


No Need to Apologise

by Ladyof_Crystals_and_Moons



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I Got Your Back, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oh that's right, One Shot, Post-Armageddon, Self-Indulgent, Sick Character, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), in the form of total self-indulgent fanfiction, you want fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyof_Crystals_and_Moons/pseuds/Ladyof_Crystals_and_Moons
Summary: They were almost done with the move to South Downs when Aziraphale catches a cold.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	No Need to Apologise

**Author's Note:**

> After killing the main character in my other Good Omens fanfiction (go check it out), I have heard your desperate ''Pay for my emotional distress, goddamnit'' screams and decided to write this!
> 
> I don't know, I have a thing for sick characters getting taken care of by their loved ones. I guess there are worse kinks...

The move was being very smooth. Which is strange for when you're moving houses.

Maybe it was the power of belief that the world wouldn't screw them over anymore, or maybe it was just the overall immortal angelic/demonic nature of Aziraphale and Crowley that stopped things from getting lost, delayed or whatever else happens during moves that makes the whole process nothing short of hell-worthy torture.

But Murphy's law dictates that something must go wrong at the most critical situation, so one day, when Crowley had finished loading up his last plants in the Bentley to take them to their new home, Aziraphale complained of a sudden headache. They were almost done and were supposed to go to their new cottage in South Downs the next day, where all their things were waiting for them, but he had been feeling a bit under the weather since early morning. 

''Can you even get sick?''

''I suppose my... corporation... can. I mean, my essence is fine, isn't it?''

A quick peek to the other plane showed Aziraphale's big golden aura doing just fine. Familiar. Warm. Still too bright a demon. Still with way too many eyes for him to be comfortable with.

Not even demons were like that... He wondered sometimes if humans would love angels just as much as they did if they knew how all of their true forms were so nightmare-ish. 

But it wasn't the time to have those discussions.

''Maybe you should just lie down.''

''My dear, I don't think this is the time for sleeping.''

''I'm pretty sure this is the exact time for it,'' Crowley said, unamused. ''Just take a nap?''

Aziraphale's gaze alternated between the Bentley and the door to the building where Crowley's apartment was.

''It's just that we just got the plants in the car. I know it's not too warm but the poor things could...''

''Oh, they'll survive. After all, if after all these years of great treatment, they were to let me down after being in the car for just a day, _I would be very disappointed_.''

The plants shivered and then made a visible effort to make to stretch more, to show off their beautiful green leaves and how they were definitely not wilting.

''Crowley, my dear, please stop terrifying your plants.''

''They need to show respect! If I don't, they'll start slacking off!'' he exclaimed, then turning to the plants in question. ''Don't test me!''

Aziraphale signed.

''Alright, I'll rest for a little while. I suppose it can't hurt...'' the angel said. 

Aziraphale then let himself be led back into the building, and into the single mattress left in the apartment. The demon had suggested just miracling a bed (as he had suggested for moving all of their things to South Downs, before agreeing to do it the human way), but he insisted that it wasn't justified for such a small nap.

Some hours passed and to Crowley's surprise, he didn't hear any signs of someone awake in their bedroom. He had been sure Aziraphale would only be persuaded to sleep for half an hour tops. He went into the bedroom to check it out and as soon as he got through the door, he knew something was wrong.

To anyone else, it would just look like his angel was sleeping. But to Crowley, even if he couldn't pinpoint why, something felt amiss.

He had felt this aura, that smell, many of times before. In that homeless man after he and Aziraphale went to that restaurant in Rome. In that old woman's house during Arthur's reign. In that hospital in the second world war... In all those countless places throughout history. It was the smell of Pestilence's influence, that wanders even if they aren't anywhere near.

Only God knew how, but his angel had indeed managed to get sick.

Crowley took off the sunglasses and shoved them in the pocket of his coat as he went up to Aziraphale.

He sat on his knees and hesitated before touching his forehead. It was warm and yet the angel was starting to shiver.

It was definitely a cold. However, the ''why now?!'' and ''how even???'' questions would have to wait.

He shook his angel very gently and eventually, his blue eyes fluttered open. His face was now flushed and he looked, overall, kinda groggy.

''How do you feel, angel?''

Aziraphale slowly sat upon his improvised bed but groaned. Right after, he starting rubbing his forehead.

''Everything hurts...'' he mumbled.

''Maybe you should eat something?''

''I'm not hungry, really.''

If Crowley hadn't known something was wrong then he would have definitely figured it out at that moment.

''Let make you some tea, at least,'' he said, trying (not desperately, no no, he wasn't totally worried, no sir) to remember what humans did when they got sick. ''I'll make a bowl of soup!''

''I'm fine.''

''No, you're not. You just said that everything hurt!'' Crowley exclaimed but lowered his tone when Aziraphale flinched. ''And maybe you should get into some pyjamas... You still have your coat and pocket watch for Hell's sake''

''I'm not sick, Crowley.''

''Oh really? Then what is this mysterious state you are under?''

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He lowered his eyes, trying to think, but ended up just rubbing his forehead again.

''I'm cold...'' he ended up saying.

''Oh no, you're not. You're as hot as they come. You probably have a fever.''

''Maybe I just need a small miracle to ge-arhg!''

Aziraphale clutched his skull with both hands, trying to alleviate the throbbing that came after the attempt.

''Wait, let me do it.''

Crowley snapped his finger but nothing changed. They could feel it. They both groaned at the realization and the angel let his head gently rest against the wall.

''Just tickety-boo...''

''Sorry, angel...''

''Oh, it's not your fault, dearest. I must have caught it somewhere as everyone else does.''

''After six thousand years of healing the sick and walking around all kinds of catastrophes?''

''It seems.''

''I'm just gonna...''

The conversation ended as Crowley miracled Aziraphale's clothes away and replaced them with some pyjamas he had gifted him some months ago. It had been an incentive for the angel to sleep with him at night, but he could never guess he would ever truly need them. Well, at least they had that on their favour.

Things got worse after that. The temperature went up and after the fourth wet towel, Crowley didn't know what to do. He was a demon for crying out loud! He didn't know a thing about healing sicknesses! He tried to go to a nearby pharmacy but there were so many types of medicine that he had to ask someone what he should take. Not knowing the exact temperature of the fever didn't help, as did the lack of what humans call ''common knowledge'' about these situations.

Satan, why couldn't he have been the one who had gotten sick? Aziraphale would have been much more apt for these tasks, he was sure of that.

Crowley went back home with packs of strangely named medicine to control the cold and for what possible stuffiness or sore throat that could ensue, and a warning to keep his partner hydrated. When he got to the bedroom, Aziraphale was mumbling incoherently in his sleep... half-sleep state.

''Oh, teacups...''

''Oh, God...'' Crowley said.

Right after he said that a grimace contorted his features with a mix of disgust and pain.

''Oh my Satan, I even sssaid Her... Nevermind...''

''Nevermore... Quoth the raven...'' Aziraphale murmured back.

''No, I said ''nevermind''... Oh, neve-... Argh!''

After that, it had been a couple of tense yet boring hours. Crowley tried to watch some TV but then went back to the bedroom because ''What if Aziraphale needed him and couldn't reach him?'', he tried listen to music with earphones but quickly turned it off because ''What if Aziraphale said something and he couldn't hear it?''. Reading a book was the only distraction. He wasn't a fan of most of his angel's books (the few that were there were just for entertainment during the trip to their new home) but he was just fine re-reading The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy he had miracled for himself.

Once in a while, the angel would whimper and his finger would automatically find his soft blonde curls and start caressing them. Sometimes those would be accompanied by simple words of comfort that he would eventually get better. Thankfully, he continued sleeping.

Then the coughing started. First, they were all that was needed to interrupt Aziraphale's slumber and Crowley's temporary peace of mind. Displeased, every time he started coughing he would mumble something about the ''damned cold'', voice starting to get progressively hoarse. Crowley would stay right beside him, asking if he needed anything. Aziraphale tried to convince the demon to go do something else, and even suggested to go on to the cottage without him to finish the move, but was quickly shut down and ushered back into silence with forehead kisses, reassuring words (not that Crowley was feeling all that reassured himself, but he was a good liar, who would only lie to Aziraphale in these rare occasions, after all) and tucking him again, so he could rest. Exhaustion ended up catching up to the angel and then he would just weakly cough in his sleep.

More hours passed but the demon didn't leave his side, for the most part, sitting next to the mattress. When he did leave, only a few times, it was only to stretch his legs.

Eventually, Aziraphale did wake up. He didn't get up, still feeling that uncomfortable combination of cold and warmth, but instead started sneezing. Crowley left to get tissues.

''Just what we needed...'' he commented sarcastically.

''It's not your fault, angel, I'm sure.''

''Most likely, but still... I never knew sickness could be so uncomfortable.''

''Never knew? Why do you think you were healing all those people? It wasn't because they liked it.''

''I know that being sick is bad, Crowley.''

His tone was strangely getting more sarcastic and impatient as the hours passed. Weren't sick people supposed to be passive or something? Crowley bit back his snickering. The principality would never be passive.

''I'm just saying...'' he continued. ''That knowing something from observing it in others is different from experiencing it yourself.

The demon nodded. This would have been an interesting conversation to have, had they not been in the position they were in.

Aziraphale coughed and looked at the ceiling. He had some more energy and wished he could read something, but he knew that after a while all he would want to do was just close his eyes and hide under the blankets. That realization made him groan.

''What is it?''

''I'm bored. But I don't feel like I could do anything...''

''I guess that comes with the package.''

''How long has it been?''

''Since we loaded the plants? A day or so. You slept for a long time.''

''Alright...'' Aziraphale sighed.

Silence settled once again in the virtually empty room.

Crowley turned his attention back to his book for a moment before he lowered his gaze to the principality, who was practically glaring at the ceiling. He then looked back at his book, and this the angel again. Then he had a brain wave.

''Aziraphale?''

''Uhm?''

''Would you like me to read to you?''

They locked gazes and Aziraphale smiled weakly but adoringly at him.

''That would be a delight, dearest.''

Crowley miracled one of the books still in the house to his hands. It was the first title he remembered: Poirot's Early Cases by Agatha Christie. He cleared his throat and began.

''The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly. You can understand the feelings of a mother, said Miss Waverly, for perhaps the sixth time...''

Crowley did not look like he owned a bookshop, or read a lot for that matter. And even just for reading out loud, he wasn't the perfect narrator. A bit too stiff and sleazy, some would say. But Aziraphale would probably kindly ask those people to apologise for that comment, making them feel very guilty.

Aziraphale let himself be immersed in the mystery, feeling his sight relax. Suddenly the ceiling looked much less annoying. He felt so lucky at that moment. And yet, even with this newfound solace, still insisted on holding his hand while the demon didn't have to turn the page. Aziraphale buried his face in the fluffy pillow and kept listening. He also almost dozed off a few times to the sound of his serpents' voice. An hour later, Crowley finished the tale.

''Rest some more, Azira. I'm going to make you something,'' he said.

The angel nodded. Sleeping sounded very tempting at that moment.

Crowley slowly got up and stretched his legs and arms, moaning pleasantly at the feeling of his bones popping and muscles getting back into action. Just as he was walking to the door, he heard Aziraphale ask:

''But what about South Downs? We were supposed to get there today.''

''It can wait, angel,'' he said. ''It wouldn't be the same without you.''

''I'm sorry...''

''Don't. It's okay.''

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes again, trying to ease the soreness, and then sighed, finally resigning to his fate of staying in the apartment until he got better. 

When he came back with soup, Crowley crawled up once more to his side, letting his head rest against the wall but keeping his eyes on the angel. He was going to stay there as long as Aziraphale needed and nothing would stop him.

''Thank you, dear...''

''Anytime.''

**Author's Note:**

> ''Crowley crawled up to his side (...)'' why yes, that shitty pun was 100% intentional.
> 
> No, I don't accept criticism towards my dumb puns but when it's about anything else, it's always welcomed! I never did something like this. I wondered if I should put this on a fluff colection to share it with more people, but I fear it's not good enough. Tell me in the coments if it's readable (an even if it's not, I had fun goddamnit, and that's what I'm here to do).


End file.
